Kynes reaches the Hall of Welcome with the ledger cradled close, and the room answers at once. The clay cradle trembles in Sella’s hands. From the far wall, the Reeve’s old authority stirs in the ink stains like a throat clearing.

Black script crawls across the threshold, thin as roots, reaching for the cradle. Bren plants herself between the door and the table, staff ready, while Nezznar narrows her eyes at the living ink.

The script surges, then hesitates, as if waiting for Kynes’s hand to decide the shape of the ending. The Hall of Welcome holds its breath, lit by hearthfire and the cold shine of the invading ink.

Kynes opens the blank book and holds it under the crawling script. His charm takes, and the ink-black lines peel free of the threshold like smoke drawn into a bowl.

The ledger gives a sharp, relieved shiver as the burden leaves it. The clay cradle stops trembling in Sella’s hands.

Black sigils stream page by page into the new book, settling into neat, obedient lines. The old stain on the floor thins at the doorway.

Bren lowers her staff a fraction, eyes still on the threshold. The hearth keeps burning. The last threads of script sink into the blank pages and go still.

The Hall of Welcome fell quiet as the last crawling script vanished into the blank book.

The Reeve's ink lost its claim, and the Hall of Welcome kept its own truth. In Sella's steadied cradle, the ledger rested at peace, no longer hunted by the order that tried to bind it. Kynes left the room with the work finished, and the chamber behind them remained silent, witnessed, and free.